BY THE SAME .

'T WAS when pale Cynthia, empress of the night,
Shot through the trees her beams of silver light,
The mournful Thyrsis o'er Eliza's tomb,
With heartfelt sighs, mourn'd her untimely doom.
Dear, sacred, dust, he cry'd, this grave contains,
The cause of all my pleasures, all my pains;
Ne'er did my soul from fond Eliza rove,
My thoughts were all possess'd by her and love;
Oh! could my tears the lovely charmer save,
How would these briny torrents wash her grave!

When I captured Liedholz
I had a blacken'd face
like a nigger's
and my teeth like white mosaics shone.

We met in the night at half-past one
between the lines.
Liedholz shot at me
and I at him;
in the ensuing tumult he surrendered to me.

Before we reached our wire
he told me he had a wife and three children.
In the dug-out we gave him a whiskey.
Going to the Brigade with my prisoner at dawn
the early sun made the land delightful
and larks rose singing from the plain.

In broken French we discussed

And perhaps some outer horror,
some hideousness to stamp beauty
a mark
on our hearts.

Fear is a wave
beating through the air
and on taut nerves impinging
till there it wins
vibrating chords.

All goes well
so long as you tune the instrument
to simulate composure.

(So you will become
a gallant gentleman.)

But when the strings are broken
then you will grovel on the earth
and your rabbit eyes
will fill with the fragments of your shatter'd soul.

Monsieur! they spahren the caresses
By including the free men of flattery,
A man who forgot his mind,
Meynt that I have an angel be;
From them to me is this Tittel,
With grace said before, so not at all,
Why? It is now no means of
She and connect me kan
I am amazed that they are not ashamed,

To take Manch schlupffrich word in the mouth,
The no chastity suffer kan:
makes her heil'ger Eiffer
We Magdchen always hot the Holle,
And thus arouses the jealousy Geiffer,
The honing our kiss to know.

We walked mutely
over black moors
where gray walls crawl
Sinuously into still horizons.

I was mute —
a sticky bud
only to unfurl
in the germination of your mood.

But you called gray rain
to slake my heart:
you called gray mist
over the black moors.

We passed black altars of rock:
two mute processional docile Christs
amid the unheeding

We entrain in open trucks
and soon glide away
from the plains of Artois.

With a wake of white smoke
we plunge
down dark avenues of silent trees.

A watcher sees
our red light gleam

Yee heavye sighes drawne with my latest breath
pass forth from me and seke that bewtye oute
Make haste I saye yee messengers off deathe
to yelde me hope or putt mee out of doubte
For yff by my desarte or her dysgrace
By destenye or els suspecte untrue
Shee looke on yow with angry frownynge face
which wronge alone I more then death would rue
Then my faynte syghes, when yow that sight do see
fly to the heavens and there attende for mee

But yff that Shee whose owne I am so muche
as that myne owne to bee I have no mighte

When I complayne I doo butt fayne
my passyon ys noo inwarde griefe
I sporte withall when I doo call
The Gods of love to my releefe

Whylste from myne eyes the forste teares ryse
in secrete to my selfe I smyle
Butt that to lett deepe syghes I fett
as thoughe my harte woulde breake the while

I never fownde so sure a grownde
to purchase grace as newe devyse
To merytt oughte ytt proffitts noughte
butt as a hazard on the deyce

To women kinde a dowble mynde
fitts beste to maintayne sporte and game

O dark eyes, I am weary
of the white wrath of the sea.

O come with me to the vernal woods
the green sap and the fragrant
white violets.